A Collection of Poems

I call anti-grace first the offering up of life as an unending battle waged to bring light  (in this divided province where nothing happens ...

If melodies be your magic, conjure a tune to which this heart could leap maybe then would she dance her pains away. Cast upon trees soulful ...

Take a sip from me Sip from the depths of my wells.

They remain lying on the earth the dark bodies of men after a useless death

Have you heard it tell that: His Majesty Oba O’s country Was abundantly rich in, All manner of natural resources, Rubber, cocoa, cotton,...

You are in the ghetto, my brother You are in the ghetto.